Hamlet
by Mirnava
Summary: Retelling of "Hamlet", with the protagonist switched to a female. Mostly the same plot, only some details changed. A prior knowledge of the original play may prove helpful, but not necessary. No slash, Hamlet's PoV.
1. Chapter 1

This is a retelling of the play, only in novel form. The narration is modern English, but the thoughts and dialogues of the characters are Shakespearian. However, "Shakespearian," in this sense, may be either directly from Shakespeare's play, a cut and paste of different pieces of the play, or my own work, in the style of Shakespeare (to make the dialogue shorter, change a detail, etc.).

As for the story itself, I have changed the protagonist to be a female. This will obviously have implications on the plot, and things will therefore be changed around, but the main plot will be the same.

Please enjoy what I hope will be an interesting read.

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Two months. It had been merely two months since the untimely death of King Hamlet. Yet here everyone was, courtiers, royal guests, and honored friends, not gathered to grieve the passing of the king, but to welcome a new one as Claudius had already wed Gertrude, King Hamlet's widow.

_Two months; the deed is done with too much haste,_ thought the young Hamlet. She stood in the corner of the banquet hall, trying to avoid as much attention as possible. Being the crowned heir to the throne was not an asset in this instance, however, nor her appearance. She had always been a fair maid, many had told her. Tall and lean, she naturally attracted the eye of many people, and her gown, though simple and modest, did little to diminish her presence. It was as rich and lovely as that of her mother's, though hers was black - the only color coming from the royal blue embroidery on the sleeves – while that of her mother was a bright white decorated with gold. She knew her mother wanted her to move on from her father's death, but it was too early. Instead, Hamlet had asked the royal seamstress to add the embroidery, as royal blue was her father's favorite color, and the color of his eyes. _Thine eyes held so much mirth, my dearest father, and now I shall never look upon them again. What I have left of thee is but thy name. _Many did not understand why Hamlet's name was that of her father, a male's name, but she liked it. She had always connected better with her father anyway, though she had gotten along well with her mother too. Before the latest marriage, that was. Now, she found herself doing almost anything she could to go against her mother's wishes.

Hamlet had tried to submerge herself in her own thoughts long enough to escape the pleasantries surrounding the royal wedding, but it was not to be. She was yanked cruelly from the safety of her mind when she heard her name, coming from the last person she wanted to hear from at that moment; her uncle. "…Hamlet, and my daughter," he was saying, to which Hamlet could only think, _A little more than kin, and less than kind._ "How is it that the clouds still hang on you?" he finished.

"Not so, my lord," she replied, her chocolate-brown eyes flashing, "I am too much i'th'sun."

At this, her mother spoke up. "Hamlet, cast thy nighted color off, and look like a friend on Denmark. Do not forever with thy veiled lids seek for thy noble father in the dust: Thou know'st 'tis common,- all that live must die, passing through nature to eternity." She looked between Hamlet and Claudius, as though seeking affirmation of what she said, which Claudius was only too happy to give.

"'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, to give these mourning duties to your father. But you must know your father lost a father. That father lost, lost his. 'Tis the way that life endures, a course of impious stubbornness. We pray you," he took Gertrude's hand, "throw to earth this unprevailing woe, and think of us as of a father. For, let the world take note; you are the most immediate to our throne, and with no less nobility of love than that which dearest father bears his son do I impart on you."

Gertrude took her hands from Claudius and laid them on Hamlet's shoulders, forcing her to look at her mother. "Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet: I pray thee, stay with us; go not to Wittenberg."

_Oh, would I so depart these tormenting prison walls! _she wanted to scream, but forced another reply from her lips. "I shall in all my best obey you, madam." Thus satisfied, the queen and her new king turned back to their party, allowing Hamlet the chance to slip out of the hall without drawing too much attention to her absence.


	2. Chapter 2

I decided that this story is going to be in Hamlet's PoV. Not a normal thing to do in the second chapter, but hey. And since Hamlet is a girl, I decided that she and Horatio should be a couple.

Part two, here you go;

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Hamlet honestly did not know where to go, nor what to do. She had never felt so alone. She always had her father that she could talk to when she was feeling down, but no more. And her mother… how could she hope to seek counsel from one who married the brother of her not-two-months-dead husband? No, there was no one she could confide in. "O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself into dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fixt His canon against self-slaughter! O God!" she cried, "God." Sobs wracked her frame as she sunk down onto the stairs before her dead father's throne, silent in her extreme agony, burying her face in her arms. Eventually her tears ran out, for the time being. She laid on her side on the ground, her knees pulled up to her chest. "How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world," she whispered, absentmindedly watching her finger trace circles in the carpet. She sighed deeply, rolling onto her back and stretching out. "A little month, or e'er those shoes were old with which she follow'd my poor father's body like Niobe, all tears; why she – even she – O, God, a beast, that wants discourse of reason would have mourn'd longer!- married with my uncle, my father's brother. But no more like my father than I to Hercules. Within a month she married – O, most wicked speed! It is not nor it cannot come to good." She rubbed her face vigorously with both hands before sighing again. "But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue."

Slowly she stood, still slightly shaky from her weeping, to head to her chamber, intending to sleep. Nothing else was there for her to do anymore, she felt, and sleep was a sort of release from the days' endless hardships. Just as she reached the door on the opposite side of the throne room, however, someone called her name. She stopped, her hand on the doorframe, and hid a sigh. Only when she wanted to be alone, it seemed, did people insist on speaking with her. Could she continue on and pretend she had not heard? No, she had already stopped walking. Unwillingly, she turned around.

The person to whom the voice belonged, however, could be none other than Horatio, Hamlet's closest friend since childhood and her courter, though he had been gone the past many months. Her face lit up, matching her spirit. "Horatio, or I do forget myself!"

"The same," he answered with a smile.

Hamlet ran to embrace him. "My good friend," she breathed. Releasing him, she looked at him, taking in the differences from when she had seen him last at school. He was only slightly taller than she, with dark skin that told of many hours in the sun. His hair, dark brown and longer than when she had seen him last, hung to his eyebrows, overhanging his deep, dark eyes, eyes which she could stare into forever and still not find the bottom of, though she could read his emotions easily enough in them. His features were sharp, but still soft, and gave her heart wings whenever she looked upon him. "What make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?"

"Milady, I came to see your father's funeral."

Hamlet's face fell. "I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow student. I think it was to see my mother's wedding."

"Indeed, milady, it follow'd hard upon." Hamlet turned away from him, hugging herself.

"Horatio, the funeral baked meats did coldly furnish the marriage tables. Would I had met my dearest foe in Heaven or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!" She stopped, closing her eyes, then continued in a whisper. "My father; methinks I see my father."

"Where, milady?"

"In my mind's eye, Horatio," she answered, unable to keep the grief from her voice.

Horatio closed the few feet between them and wrapped Hamlet in his arms from behind. "I saw him once. He was a goodly king," he said softly in her ear.

She shrugged slightly, leaning her head on his shoulder. "He was a man, take him for all in all. I shall not look upon his like again." There was a comfortable silence between them for a few moments, then Horatio spoke hesitantly.

"Milady, I think I saw him yesternight."

"Saw? Who?"

"Milady, the king, your father."

Hamlet spun out of his arms to face him. "The king my father?" she repeated, searching his eyes for any indication of a jest. There was none.

"Season your admiration for a while with an attent ear till I may deliver, upon the witness of these two gentlemen, this marvel to you." He swept his hand out behind him, drawing Hamlet's attention to two guards that were standing at the door, at rapt attention. Hamlet recognized them as two of the men who kept watch at night.

She snapped her still-wide eyes back to Horatio's. "For God's love, let me hear!"

"Two nights together had these gentlemen, Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch in the dead vast and middle of the night been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, armed at point, exactly cap-a-pe, appears before them, and with solemn march goes slowly and stately by them. Thrice he walkt by their opprest and fear-surprised eyes within his truncheon's length whilst they, distill'd, almost to jelly with the act of fear, stand dumb and speak not to him. I with them the third night kept the watch, where, as they had deliver'd, form of the thing, each word made true and good. These hands are not more like."

Hamlet grabbed Horatio's wrist. "Did you not speak to it?"

"Milady, I did. But answer made it none." He paused. "We did think it in our duty to let you know of it," Horatio said carefully, trying to gauge the startled look and the silence Hamlet gave as she stared at the empty space next to his head.

"Indeed, indeed… but this troubles me," she whispered to herself, then looked at him again. "Hold you the watch tonight?" The guards nodded. "Armed?" she asked quickly, switching back to the topic of her father's ghost. Another nod. "Then saw you not his face?"

Horatio spoke up. "O, yes, milady. He wore his beaver up."

"Looked he frowningly?"

"A countenance more in sorrow than in anger." That sounded like her father so far.

"Pale or red?"

"Nay, very pale."

"And fixt his eyes upon you?"

"Most constantly."

Hamlet spun away in frustration. This sounded like it could have been her father! And to have Horatio this convinced… "I would I had been there! Stayed it long?"

"Not when I saw it."

"His beard was grizzled, no?"

"It was, as I have seen it in his life."

She took a deep breath. "I will watch tonight. Perchance 'twill walk again."

"I warrant it will," Horatio replied. She looked at him.

"If it assume my noble father's person, I'll speak to it. I pray you all, whatsoever shall hap tonight, give it an understanding, but no tongue. Fare you well. Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, I'll visit you." All three men bowed and left. "My father's spirit in arms; all is not well! I doubt some foul play… would the night were come!"

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Please review? I'd love to hear what anyone thinks so far. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Hamlet made her way to her room, changing out of her gown into a simple, black, woolen dress. She walked to the window. The sun was a hand's breadth from the horizon, so she stood there, hands clasped behind her back, thinking. Was it truly her father's ghost? If it was, what could that mean? She needed to talk to Ophelia, her childhood friend, but she had been avoiding Hamlet lately. _But for what reason? I know not. Fair Ophelia, how have I wronged thee?_ Throughout the long years, Ophelia had always been there for Hamlet - and Hamlet for Ophelia - if anything had ever been amiss in either one's life. One of the last things she had heard from Ophelia was that her brother, Laertes, was to leave Denmark and return to France, where he had been living for a while now. This sibling's absence was what caused the friendship between Hamlet and Ophelia to blossom, as each felt lonely and drawn to each other. _But ever did Laertes me distrust, _Hamlet thought. He thought that they were only friends because Hamlet could not find any that matched her status and were 'suitable' for her, but when she did, she would throw Ophelia away like leftover meat to the hounds. This was the most likely reason that Ophelia would not lately even be in the same room as she; ever the obedient daughter and sister, she was probably ordered to keep away from the heir to Denmark's throne. _But, dear Ophelia, your counsel and your ear would not go amiss in this dark and troubled hour._

Hamlet gazed at the stars, seeing them again for the first time in hours. It was almost twelve! She dashed to her bed and grabbed her long, heavy coat, shrugging it on as she walked briskly toward the castle's parapets.

"Stand, ho! Who is there?" came a shout and a light.

She shielded her eyes with her hand. "Hamlet! 'Tis I, Hamlet! I seek Horatio!" The light was quickly lowered and apologies offered. Bernardo, for it was he that first saw her, led her to where Horatio and Marcellus stood, watching and hearing the festivities of the court below. They turned as they heard the approaching footsteps, and bowed to her.

"The hour lacks of twelve-" Horatio began.

"No, it is struck." Marcellus cut in.

"Indeed?" Horatio raised an eyebrow. "I heard it not." He shrugged. "Then it draws near the season wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. What does this sound mean, milady?" he motioned to the courtyard.

"The king doth wake tonight, and, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, the kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out the triumph of his pledge," she answered with a grimace.

"Is it a custom?" Horatio asked.

"Ay, marry, is't. But to my mind, it is a custom more honor'd in the breach than the observance. This heavy-headed revel east and west makes us traduced and taxt of other nations; they clepe us drunkards, and indeed it takes from our achievements, though perform'd at height."

Horatio gasped, wide-eyed and pointing behind her. "Look, my lady, it comes!"

Hamlet spun around, instantly catching sight of a man, tall, yet ghostly white, mist curling off of his shoulders and forming a halo around his body. He was clad, head to foot, in armour, the same armour that the king wore in life. He had a grey beard, his eyes were deep blue, and his face…. His face was the same one that Hamlet had been mourning these past months. "Angels and ministers of grace defend us!" she whispered, aghast. "Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd, being with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell, by thy intents wicked or charitable, thou comest in such a questionable shape that I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet! King! Father! Royal Dane!" The ghost made no reply, only advancing on Hamlet, those sad eyes never leaving hers. "O, answer me!" Her back made contact with the solid stone of the wall, telling her that she could go no further back. But still he came forward, an icy breath covering her from his proximity. "Let me not burst in ignorance," she all but begged, shivering, "but tell why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death, wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd, hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws that thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, making night hideous and we fools of nature so horridly to shake our disposition with thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? Say, why is this? Wherefore? What should we do?" Still, the ghost made no answer, but looked at the three men standing a few feet away, not daring to come any closer. He studied each of them, then returned his gaze to Hamlet before motioning with a gauntlet-clad hand for her to follow him as he walked away.

"It waves you to a more removed ground," Marcellus said, "but do not go with it."

"No, by no means!" Horatio agreed.

Hamlet moved forward as if in a trance. "It will not speak; then I will follow it."

Horatio caught her arm in his strong grip, stopping her. "Do not."

She met his eyes. "Why, what should be the fear? I do not set my life at a pin's fee, and for my soul, what can it do to that, being a thing immortal as itself? It waves me forth again; I'll follow it."

But Horatio still held her. "What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lady, or to the dreadful summit of the cliff that beetles o'er his base into the sea, and there assume some other horrible form which might deprive your sovereignty of reason and draw you into madness? Think of it! That very place puts toys of desperation, without more motive, into every brain that looks so many fathoms to the sea and hears it roar beneath!"

Hamlet was not listening, however. "It waves me still- go on, I'll follow thee!"

She struggled, and broke free of Horatio's hand, but only to be caught by Marcellus and Bernardo. "You shall not go, my lady," said Marcellus calmly.

"Hold off your hands," Hamlet answered, just as deceptively calmly.

"Be ruled; you shall not go," Horatio said to her again.

"My fate cries out and makes every petty artery in this body as hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. Still am I called!" Her eyes caught fire then. "Unhand me, gentlemen- by heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me!" she threatened, brandishing the sword that she stole from Bernardo's scabbard, "I say, away! Go on," she spun away from them, "I'll follow thee!" Hamlet heard brief conversation and footsteps behind her, but this only urged her to run the faster.


End file.
